


Flare

by Xenolis



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Kinda?, i hate tagging ):, villain reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23558596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenolis/pseuds/Xenolis
Summary: You'd never intended to be a villain, but life doesn't always work out the way you'd like.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Flare

**Author's Note:**

> Written April 2018 I think?? The file glitched and says it was made in 2009 lmao. I just wanna get these old one-shots posted so I don't have to think about them anymore oof

"Don't do this, (Y/N)!" Peter exclaimed, leaping out of the way of a truck as you flung it towards him.

You merely glared at him, grabbing a car with ease and launching it through the air. He was quick to jump to one side, but caught his foot on some uneven ground and thudded heavily to the floor. While he was down, grumbling with pain and trying to pull himself back up, you snatched Captain America's shield from where it had been abandoned at your feet. Peter let out a startled yelp as he saw you running over, weapon raised, and he was quick to clumsily scramble behind cover, breathing heavily and desperately looking around him.

"You can't win, Peter!" You crowed with a giggle, swinging the shield through the air as you slowed your pace to a taunting saunter. "I'm better than you!"

"No, you're not!" He called back, briefly peeking his head out to gauge the distance between you, but his dark eyes widened and he rapidly ducked back down as a motorbike zoomed past. "The bad guys never win, so give up now before I have to beat you up!"

There were some frantic scrabbling noises from where Peter was hiding. You frowned in confusion, cautiously edging closer and raising the shield so it covered most of your body.

"I'll never give in. This city will be mine!" You suddenly lurched into a sprint towards his cover, practically vaulting over the top with the intention of bringing the weapon down on his head.

But it suddenly stopped. You inhaled sharply as you saw the red hand clasped around the shield edge, shaking with the effort it took to keep it away from his face. Your eyes locked onto a bright white glow on the palm before you were thrown backwards, your shield tumbling from your grip as you went flying through the air. A sharp pain jolted through your cheek as you hit it on the ground, and you squeezed your eyes shut with a whimper as your skull thrummed uncomfortably.

Footsteps approached, and you blearily squinted up at the silhouette of Peter. He towered over you, wearing Iron Man's helmet and pointing the gauntlet at your head, the glimmering light making your eyes ache. You struggled into a sitting position, raising a trembling hand to your face before lowering it and panicking at the sight of blood on your fingers.

"Oh, no! Are you okay?" Peter took off the small, plastic helmet, kneeling down in front of you to stare worriedly at your injury while you tried to hold back the tears.

"Hurts," you whined, closing your eyes again when the room danced before you.

He made a concerned noise, uncertainly reaching towards you and brushing his fingertips over your cheekbone. You winced, a sob spilling from your lips and tears trailing down your cheeks. Peter was quick to spew nervous apologies, taking your hand in his in an attempt to comfort you, like he'd seen on TV so many times.

"I'll... I'll go get May, okay? She can help," he assured you, speaking swiftly, before jumping to his feet and rushing from the room.

It felt like an eternity passed before Peter and his aunt returned. She glanced around the room, cringing at the mess of pillows and toys that had been strewn around during your playtime, before she noticed you and a look of alarm flickered across her features. May was at your side in a blink, ghosting her hands over your head without actually touching anything as she examined your injuries.

"How hard did you hit your head?" She asked you slowly, keeping her palms lightly grazing your jaw as she held eye contact with you.

You squinted at her, trying to see past the flickering lights in your vision. "I... I don' fee' too good-" you slurred out, feeling your stomach churn unpleasantly.

Peter's face was pale, and he looked terrified. You had a vague desire to comfort him somehow, but the moment you opened your mouth you threw up all over the floor, starting to cry harder. Your head was pounding and you wanted to go to sleep. May sighed sympathetically, brushing back your hair.

"You've got a concussion. It's not too bad, but we should go to the hospital anyway," she informed the two kids in a calm voice. "Pete, you want to grab a glass of water for (Y/N)? I'll call your parents, let them know what happened."

He nodded, eager to help in any way, and dashed from the room. You stared after him, knowing that some day, he was going to be a hero, just like the Avengers.

*

You traced a finger over your cheekbone where you knew the scar was, despite being hidden under the smooth fabric of your mask. The kid you used to be was long gone after your father walked out on you and your mother spiralled into a deep depression, no longer caring about anything or anyone. Her neglect made you realise that the world was hellish, and when you were ten you packed up everything you could find and left, not really sure where to go. People found you, took you in, and trained you, morphing you into something you always roleplayed as with Peter: a villain.

Just like those games, you'd dressed up in an outift to match your moniker and powers: a red mask that concealed your eyes and curved around your cheeks, stopping on level with your lips; a skin-tight suit that clung to your form, coloured crimson and striped with yellow and orange curves, specially designed to withstand your powers; a black shawl, lined with white, that wrapped around your upper torso with a hood to hide your hair; padded, gel boxing wraps for your hands; shin-high boots with knives strapped inside; and a utility belt with pockets and loops, allowing you to carry things important to the mission. Regardless of how silly you felt you looked, the fact that people recognised you well enough to run meant that you'd built a bad reputation in Queens.

Those days playing with toys were over eight years ago, and you were seventeen now. You were done with mourning the life you could've had, and instead focused on improving your future.

Being a villain was easy, really, especially in the small district of Queens. Your crimes were mostly petty - stealing from people, starting fights – and they were generally too small for the media to bother reporting on. On the occasion, however, the group that had taken you in would give you a task to complete, and you would always accomplish your mission without fail.

At least... that was the case until Queens gained its very own vigilante known as Spider-Man. He sounded like he was eleven years old and swung around in his pyjamas, but despite that he was becoming quite a nuisance, although so far you'd just about managed to avoid him.

You glanced down at your phone as it buzzed in your hand, informing you that your target was approaching. Perfectly on time, the man arrived, glancing nervously around him before entering the store. You observed from a rooftop opposite, keeping low to avoid detection.

"Hey there, baddie!" A high-pitched voice called from behind you, "busy scheming evilly?"

You rolled your eyes towards the heavens, easily recognising the stupid Spiderkid's voice. "Plotting, actually."

"Oh, what are you plotting?" He inquired innocently, and although you didn't bother looking at him you just knew he was leaning against something to try and be cool and casual.

"A story," you quipped, "it's about a baby spider who's up way past his bedtime."

You finally stood up from your crouch, shoving your phone into your belt and turning around to face the kid who was way out of his depth. The 'Spider-Man' was dressed up in a red hoodie that had a crude logo of an arachnid on the front, what looked to be some kind of baggy, light blue onesie, and crimson socks and shoes. His face was concealed behind a fabric mask that looked as if it had been fashioned out of an old shirt, and for some reason there were black and white goggles where his eyes should be. Just as expected, he was awkwardly resting a bent arm on top of an air vent, leaning a little sideways and fiddling with the scrappy, plastic web-shooters on his wrists.

"Was that an insult? I feel like that was an insult," he muttered, before straightening up. "Well, anyway, are you going to stop... whatever it is you're doing? Or am I going to have to web you up?"

You nonchalantly tightened the velcro straps of your gloves, casting a look over your shoulder at the store to check that your target hadn't left yet. "Seriously, kid- go home. It's dangerous at night."

There was a _fwip_ , and your hands were stuck together with white webbing. You stared blankly at them for a moment before sighing heavily, taking a moment to crack your neck and tilt your head back to let your hood slide off. Your hair crackled and sparked before starting to glow from within, brightening until it was a shining amber. Spider-Man was frozen in surprise, only able to stare in shock as the shimmering strands defied gravity, lifting into the air and dancing above your head like flames in a hearth.

"Oh," he said finally, realisation in his voice. "You must be Flare!"

He immediately leapt onto the air vent, a thud resounding through the hollow metal. You raised your hands in front of your face, widening your stance and creeping closer, keeping your eyes locked onto him to try and predict his next move. The boy scanned you for a beat before his hand darted out, shooting another round of webs towards you that you were quick to avoid, ducking and weaving until you were breathless.

"At least fight up close and personal, kid. This is no fun," you taunted him, trying to hide your grin when he took the bait and flipped back down onto the concrete roof.

"I hit pretty hard," he informed you, body language confident and inexperienced.

Your lips curved into a smirk. "I'm counting on it," you murmured to yourself.

Spider-Man lunged towards you, hitting out with a wild right-hook that you blocked with your bound hands. A faint, iridescent shimmer rippled over the area of the punch, but he was too busy trying to knock out your legs and elbow you in the side to have noticed. You hopped to the side, keeping fully defensive to monitor his almost non-existent fighting style, catching as many hits as possible in your hands. He huffed in annoyance, backing up after another failed jab.

"I thought you wanted to fight me?" He sounded like a petulant toddler on the border of throwing a tantrum. "Well, nevermind- I don't have time for this."

The kid flexed his fingers before lurching forwards, putting all his weight behind a punch that was clearly intended to be a final blow at your head. You raised your arms, catching his fist with your palms without the rest of your body moving an inch. He winced at the warmth radiating from your grasp, nervously trying to retract his hand as he started to realise that he may have underestimated you. The shimmer was back, pulsing with light and burning with heat from all the kinetic energy you had absorbed, and the webbing stood no chance against the furnace-like temperature, melting like cheese and dripping off your hands and landing with a dangerous hiss on the ground.

You held his hand captive for a moment longer, watching as his struggles become more frantic, before shoving him away so hard he tumbled into the dust. He stared up at you for a moment, and you didn't even need to see his face to know he was astounded that he was overpowered so easily. You raised a hand, playfully rolling the web shooter between your fingers and enjoying his panicked moves as he went to check his wrist, only to find that you had indeed stolen it without him realising.

"Incy wincy spider got caught in his own web..." You sang lowly, approaching with a predatory glare. "Fought with the flame – he's lucky he's not dead."

Before Spider-Man had a chance to recover, you pressed the button on his little device, practically wrapping him in a coccoon against the air vent before carelessly tossing it back to him and spinning around, getting right back into your job as you felt your phone vibrate against your abdomen. The man cautiously exited the store, pulling his jacket tighter around his shaking frame.

He was going to get his comeuppance for spilling some secrets he shouldn't have.

You stepped onto the edge of the building, hair whipping and burning ferociously in the wind. He glanced up, a look of dawning horror flooding across his features before he turned tail and ran. You grinned: it was always more fun when they thought they stood a chance.

*

It was a few weeks before Spider-Man jutted into your business again. Of course, you'd heard about the kids he saved at the Washington Monument, the ferry incident, and him stopping the Vulture from stealing things from Stark, so you knew he hadn't given up on being a nuisance just yet. His suit had even been upgraded, keeping to the red colour scheme of the original and making it a whole lot more streamlined: it seemed as if Stark had basically adopted him as a mini-superhero, which didn't bode well for you.

The alien weapons crime syndicate had been dismantled, which was a pain for you and your group, since that tech was the most advanced and dangerous on the black market and sold for a pretty penny. Your boss had been quick to disassociate with them when he heard that the FBI were on the case, sniffing out criminals like bloodhounds and coming too close for comfort to your own small operation.

It was a mild Saturday evening, with a brisk wind that kept tugging at your hood, trying to uncover your hair. You kept the fabric pinched between your fingers and pulled forwards as you stalked along the streets, intending to meet with an information broker to gain an upper hand against a competitor in the crime world.

Apparently, fate had other ideas, as you head a faint _whoosh_ from behind. You clenched your fists and activated your powers, feeling the subtle energy trickle over your form before two feet planted firmly against your back and kicked you into the dirt. The momentum allowed you to roll into a crouch, spinning around to face the offender with hatred burning in your eyes that was quick to fade into annoyance as you saw who had attacked you.

"Hello, again!" Spider-Man chirped brightly, shifting his weight onto one leg; your gaze immediately honed in on the slice on his thigh, possibly from a knife. "You look like you're getting up to no good."

"It's good for me," you said as you stood up, shrugging. "Didn't anyone ever tell you to mind your own business?"

"Of course, but not when that business is crime. I gotta keep the streets safe, y'know?" He gesticulated with his hands as he spoke, and the more he moved the more scrapes you noticed on his suit.

"Already been in a fight today?" You nodded towards his unkempt appearance, lips quirking into a faint smile as he seemed to do a double-take upon noticing the state he was in.

"Oh, uh- yeah! There was, uh, some grand theft auto... and this was guy mugging someone; he got me good, but that's okay because he's arrested now," he trailed off, shaking his head and looking back at you with what you assumed was a glare. "And you're next on the list!"

"Because that worked out so well for you last time," you commented drily, turning around and waving him off as you continued on your way. "Go find someone else to bother: I don't want to miss my meeting."

"Hey, you know you cheated!" He squeaked indignantly, footsteps scuffing against the pavement as he hurried after you. "Is it an _evil_ meeting? Because you know I have to stop that."

You paused, glancing sideways at him as he caught up. "It's a meeting that's going to take down the Insid group. Will _your highness_ allow me to go?"

He appeared taken aback, physically leaning away from you in surprise. "So you're not going to kill someone again?"

"We'll see," you said with a meaningful glare towards him.

"Well, um... I'll be keeping an eye on you, so you'd better not be lying, or... or you'll regret it!" He did a clumsy 'watching you' gesture with his hand, slowly backing away.

Spider-Man was probably intending to be threatening and dramatic, but he just ended up tripping over a plastic bottle and stumbling for a few steps before regaining his balance. The kid froze for a moment, arms out for stability, as if he hadn't yet realised that he was still standing. He looked up at you, then back down at his feet, before clearing his throat and cutting his losses by webbing up the side of a building and swinging out of sight. You stared after him for a few moments in disbelief, astounded that this idiot somehow managed to take down one of the biggest covert weapons dealers in New York.

Thankfully, your information guy was still waiting, despite you being a few minutes late. She probably realised that you would have tracked her down eventually if she had left too soon, which was wise of her. The pair of you nodded before walking in tandem towards a nearby bench, sitting down and starting to talk under the guise of a causal conversation.

Although, come to think of it, that wasn't much of a cover due to your garish getup, but it wasn't like anyone was around to think your meeting was suspicious.

Somehow, the meeting with the spritely kid had put you in a good mood, and you allowed your shoulders to relax. This person was an ally to you, so there was no need for intimidation or caution.

"Apparently, they're planning on hitting some houses in Midtown Manhattan, starting from the east side," she informed you in a low, easygoing tone, keeping her gaze on the dark sky.

"So, I guess the rumours are true and they _do_ need money; they wouldn't take that risk unless they were desperate," you mused, letting out a sigh. "You don't happen to know exactly which houses they're going to break into, do you? We don't have enough people to patrol such a big area."

"No, but from what I've heard they're planning to start at 9pm tomorrow." She briefly glanced sideways at you before looking away again, shifting in her seat.

"Friday night," you muttered, "strike while most people will be out."

She nodded, brushing her hair out of her face and standing up. "It was good seeing you," she said pleasantly.

You offered a smile in response. She was quick to scuttle off and vanish into the night.

*

_SPIDER-MAN WORKING WITH FLARE?_

_NOT-SO-FRIENDLY NEIGHBOURHOOD SPIDER-MAN_

_VIGILANTE TURNED VILLAIN!_

The newspapers were slapped down on the table in front of you as your boss stared you down, no less intimidating despite being the one to care for you for many years. There were pictures of the two of you conversing on the street, and it was a pretty easy misconception that you two might've been allies. You felt a little irritated that this was the most media coverage you'd had in the four years you'd been operating, and it was all because of this wannabe-hero who had turned up only a year previously.

"Let's get straight to the point- are you working with Spider-Man?" Your boss leaned forwards, pressing his palms against the varnished table.

"No," you denied immediately with a scoff, "he's just tried to fight me a couple of times. I didn't hurt him too badly: he's just a dumb kid."

He nodded shortly, scrutinising you for a moment longer before relaxing and sitting down. "Well, if you two happen to cross paths again, be sure to thank him."

Your eyebrows rose and you stared at him in bewilderment. "What?"

"We sent a squad out to act upon the intel you got us, but Spider-Man was already there. He had taken out a few Insids for us and pointed out where some others were, so the mission was a success, mostly thanks to him." Your boss cracked a smile, shaking his head. "I've no idea why he helped us out, but I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth."

You sat there for a few more seconds in stunned silence. "I... I'm gonna... go..."

You stood up, pushing back the chair and leaving, almost robotically. When he had said he would 'keep an eye on you,' you hadn't realised he meant literally. He must have been nearby when you had your meeting, and had taken advantage of the situation by taking out the Insids himself, even if he was indirectly helping your group in the process.

A half hour passed as you wandered through the streets in the darkness. Few people were out, and those that were barely spared you a second glance in the cosy coat you were wearing over your spectacularly evil spandex you'd put on since you'd anticipated meeting Spider-Man. It was mostly quiet, aside from the rumble of the citys nightlife that faded into white noise the longer you walked.

"Get away from me!" A woman screamed, and you looked up just in time to see her run into you, causing you to stumble backwards, hands automatically grasping her sides to stabilise her.

Her breath caught in her throat as she recovered from the unexpected collision and looked up from her feet, clearly noticing and recognising your mask. Instead of turning and sprinting away from you as you expected, she actually clung closer to you, desperately gripping your shoulders with tears glistening on her cheeks.

"Please," she exclaimed hopelessly, " _please_ , don't let him get me!"

You cautiously skimmed over her appearance, noticing with an unwelcome jolt of bitterness that she was only in thin nightwear, hair awry and feet scraped from running. Her expression was warped with utter terror, enough for you to push aside your apprehension and unzip your coat, handing it to her without a word. She wasted no time in pulling it on, tugging it as tight as possible around her torso as her eyes dropped to the ground, shakes wracking her frame. Your gaze flicked over her shoulder as you heard heavy footfalls, and you instinctively pushed the woman behind you when a rough-looking man rounded the corner, teeth bared in what was practically a snarl as he aggressively called out to her.

He slowed to a saunter the moment he noticed you standing protectively in front of the vulnerable stranger. His hands clenched into fists as he glared at you, greasy strands of hair hanging around of his face. There was a bruise on his cheek, but you felt no remorse for his injuries.

"Get out of the way," he snapped, leaning into your personal space.

You smelt alcohol on his breath but didn't back down, glaring right back at him as your hair pulsed dangerously, briefly illuminating your hood. "Get lost," you spat right back at him.

He lurched unsteadily before raising a fist and aiming a punch at your face, which you had anticipated and easily blocked with a forearm, keeping one hand behind you to keep tabs on the woman. You stepped sideways, gripping his wrist and twisting his shoulder before raising a leg to kick him away.

The sudden dexterity he displayed caught you off guard when he whirled around, folding his arm and slamming an elbow into your nose. Burning pain exploded in your skull and your head snapped back, but you recovered almost instantly as you'd been taught, your hair exploding from the confines of your hood, suddenly burning a dangerous amber and crackling like a thunderstorm as an iridescent light shimmered over your face. It danced down your neck, crawling across your shoulders and settling in your fists, glittering dangerously like broken glass in moonlight. You darted forwards, swinging a hit into his jaw with all the force of the energy collected from his attacks, sending him slumping heavily to the ground with at least one broken bone.

"Don't tell me you were going easy on me, Flare!" A familiar voice whined, followed shortly by the figure himself dropping from the sky and landing lightly before you.

"I would _never_ ," you shot back with a smile already gracing your features.

He scoffed, pointing his wrists to the unconscious man on the pavement and webbing down his limbs before turning to face the woman. "You alright, ma'am?"

She nodded rapidly, an immensely relieved laugh bubbling over her lips as she tried to wipe the tears from her face. "Yes. Yeah. Thank you. I... Thank you so much, Flare, Spider-Man."

"The police are on their way here to arrest him. I'll stay with you until they arrive, if that's okay?" His mask shifted as you presumed he smiled, and for a moment you were struck with the unexpected desire to see what it looked like.

You knew you had to leave, but you hesitated, glancing at Spider-Man. "My boss told me to thank you."

"For what?" He tilted his head slightly, clearly confused.

"Taking out the Insids." You paused, deciding to indulge your curiosity. "Why did you help us, anyway?"

"It's not about helping you," he denied immediately, "the more criminals off the street, the better."

You raised your eyebrows, trying not to sound to amused. "So, you'll come for us eventually?"

He nodded vehemently and crossed his arms, the eyes on his suit squinting at you. "Of course! Watch your back, because you'll never know when I'll strike next." He loosened up suddenly, making as if to reach out towards you before letting his arm drop. "Uh... how's your face?"

You lightly pressed your fingers against your nose, wincing. "I'll live."

He was still staring, bug-eyes still narrowed, and you had a feeling he was deep in thought. "Your... Your mask is a little crooked."

You blinked at him before reaching up and shifting it back into place, moving it over your cheek where it was supposed to be before it had been dislodged with the hit. The woman looked between the two of you, and you were relieved to see her blood-chilling terror had been replaced with a tired interest.

"Is it true, then? That you're working together?" She asked softly, only to sink a little into the coat when the pair of you suddenly stared at her.

"We're not," you said for the second time that day, pulling a face at the thought of working with the kid.

"But enemies don't tend to talk as much as we do, right?" He commented unhelpfully. "Plus, I helped you out with your group's job, and you helped me out with my job here."

"God, shut up," you groaned, turning around and starting to hurry away.

"Flare," he called; you stopped, if only because you'd never heard his voice so soft and genuine. "thank you. It was good of you to help her."

You stayed still for another moment before continuing on your way. His words rang in your mind as you walked back home, your footsteps a rhythm to your spinning thoughts.

*

Somehow, your meetings with the Spiderling grew more frequent as the months passed. You'd be settled on a rooftop, relaxing between jobs, and he would swing down, initiating a playful conversation. He'd sprint by after a criminal and offer you a cheeky wave and a promise of returning later, which he always followed through on. His energetic, enthusiastic nature was a nice break from the horrors of the world, some of which you committed, and the occassional spars he inititated let you work off some stress and practice with your powers. It had become such a casual, friendly occurance that the media was having a field day reporting every sighting of you and him together, questioning whether Flare was shifting to the good side or whether Spider-Man had dark, ulterior motives.

But, for now, that was irrelevant.

The pair of you were sitting on a skyscraper, legs dangling over the edge as you both stared at the caramel sunset oozing across the horizon. He was humming some song to himself, drumming his fingers on his thigh and happily peering around himself at the city he protected. You could barely remember the last time you had felt so relaxed around another person.

His shoulders suddenly squared as he peered down over the edge, eyes squinting. "How fast can I get there, Karen?" He paused, then nodded, getting to his feet on the precipice. "Right, okay. I'll keep them occupied until the police arrive; thanks, Karen."

"What's the issue now?" You inquired tiredly, slightly peeved that your chill time had been cut short.

"Hostage situation. The bad guys have some of the alien tech weapons," he answered shortly, sounding a lot more serious than you'd ever heard him, but his tone grew hesitant as he turned to look down at you. "You, uh... you wanna come help?"

"Um... sure, okay," you stuttered, standing up. "But only because you'd probably die without me protecting you."

He made an indignant noise, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you against him a little harder than necessary. "Oh, yeah? Maybe I should just leave you up here with no way to get down, see who needs who's help then!"

Without a warning, he leapt off the building, and you bit back a shriek of terror as the wind rushed past your ears, tugging your hair free from your hood. You clung to him like a koala, feeling your stomach flip as he webbed onto a wall and changed direction, flinging the two of you through the city towards the scene. No matter how many times you experienced falling with style, it still left you trembling and breathless by the time you touched down again, and you had to lean on him for support as the two of you walked the rest of the distance to your destination. He peeked around the corner for a second before hiding again, clearly thinking of the best way to approach such a delicate situation.

You pulled your hood back up as Spider-Man silently scaled the side of the short building before hopping down into the street, clearly one to make a dramatic entrance. Mumbles of surprise and relief rippled around the crowd gathered, and you dared a look to assess the situation. There were about twenty civilians, all of whom were cowering on the ground, staring with unbridled joy at the masked vigilante. Three guys with hefty, glowing weapons were spread out around the people, keeping them in check when they whispered too loudly or moved too much. The main man with the biggest gun was glaring at Spider-Man, aiming the dangerous device at him then he dared a step closer.

"Hey, dude! Why wasn't I invited to this party?" The kid exclaimed, letting out an offended huff of breath.

"Because we knew you'd show up anyway." The white-haired man bared his teeth an an imitation of a smile. "Which is precisely what we were hoping for, so we could end you once and for all."

A flash of light from his gun briefly blinded you, and when the light spots cleared you could see a decent chunk of a wall had been obliterated. Spider-Man stared at it worriedly, his head snapping back around just in time to dodge another blast that scorched the ground and left an acrid smell in the air. You knew that he could easily take down all three guys if the civilians were evacuated, which meant you had to find a way to help.

"This isn't how you're supposed to treat a guest of honour!" He yelped out between frantic flips, just barely missing the burning explosions that would undoubtedly do some serious damage to him.

Just as you'd been hoping for, the main man motioned over one of his comrades, and the two of them put more pressure on the vigilante. His absence gave you a window of opportunity, allowing you to sneak into the street and crouch amongst the civilians for cover. A little boy stared up at you in amazement, whatever words he'd been ready to say fading as you raised a finger to your lips.

"You five," you pointed at each person, "when I say, you run over there into the alley."

You kept a subtle eye on the unfolding battle, unintentionally tensing up whenever Spider-Man was almost hit. He stumbled and just about dodged the worst of a shot that singed his side, and you gave the signal to the civilians, who were quick to rush away, unseen. The third man joined the firing squad of idiots, turning up the heat both metaphorically and literally, making the poor spider dance with death. You took every opportunity to send more groups away to safety, until only two remained.

Unfortunately, one of the bad guys turned around, noticing the significant lack of hostages as the sound of sirens grew louder. You were quick to tell the scared people to run, and you practically threw yourself at the gunman, grabbing his arm and throwing off his aim. A flash of heat seared your wrist as he continued to fire wildly, gaining the attention of the other two who both turned on you in shock.

Your hair flared up as you decided to buy a few more moments so your friend could catch his breath. The man with the purple gun charged up a shot that you ducked under, hopping to the side to avoid a green blast from the second guy before throwing yourself to the ground in a clumsy roll so you weren't roasted by the third baddie. Spider-Man finally recovered enough to spray some webs, sticking one guy's ankles and tugging him to the ground, kicking away his gun before gluing him to the concrete.

You were taken by surprise as the second man rushed towards you, missing a shot and dodging a hit before managing to tackle you, taking you down with a heavy thud that knocked the air from your lungs. He aimed a punch at your jaw that skimmed past your cheek, giving you a chance to raise your legs and kick him off you. His fingers were still clasped firmly around the gun which he was quick to point at you, only for you to shove at his hand, sending the shot sailing over your shoulder. You snatched up the weapon and sent it spinning away, jumping off the man just in time for a clump of webs to plaster him down.

There was only one man left, and you turned to him with a heaving chest. He looked uneasy, shifting in a way that reminded you of a cornered animal, but he reluctantly dropped the large gun and gently kicked it closer to your companion. You made the mistake of letting your guard down, thinking the fight was over.

The leader suddenly pulled something out of his pocket. Spider-Man flung out a hand, only to stare in alarm at his wrist as no webs came out of the damaged shooter. The man took advantage of the moment and sprinted away, and you were about to run after him until you realised something was beeping. You glanced down at the abandoned gun, watching as the gem pulsed and flashed restlessly, then looked back up at your friend who stared right back at you in the seemingly slowed moment of time as you both realised it was a bomb at his feet.

He wouldn't survive the blast if he was that close, not even with his suit and healing powers. If the holes blasted through brick were anything to go by, then the explosion was going to be devastating.

The weapon detonated. You threw yourself towards Spider-Man. A rush of searing heat blasted over you as you clamped a hand down on his bicep, the shockwave flinging the two of you through the air. Your ears rang and your exposed skin burned. It was hard to breathe; the air was heavy.

Silence fell. You blinked your eyes open, squinting blearily as your vision swam for a moment before settling. The dust in your lungs was choked out in ragged coughs as you shifted your position in the debris, wincing as pain crawled over your body. You suddenly glanced to the side, looking at the unmoving form of your friend, half-buried. It was difficult to tell whether he was breathing or not.

A jolt of adrenaline spurred you into action, shoving rubble off his body and keeping one hand firmly pressed against his body to maintain the bright, iridescent shine that rippled over the pair of you as you did so. You lifted a plank of wood off his head, freezing when you saw that his mask had been dislodged, showing the pale skin of his neck and a tuft of light brown hair. He still hadn't shown any signs of conciousness, causing worry to grip your heart in icy claws.

Your power could only cushion blows, not block them completely. _What if it hadn't been enough?_

You tried to push down your desperation, glancing over his figure for critical injuries before lightly shifting him until he lay on his back. His chest was faintly moving, and his gentle, shuddering breaths relieved some of the panic you felt. The sound of sirens was close, and you knew that both of you needed to leave before the police arrived. You carefully slipped his functional web shooter from his wrist, shoving it onto your own and hoisting up your friend who slumped limply against you.

It took a few, stressful moments to figure out how it worked, but you were quick to tighten your grip on Spider-Man before swinging away. You never dared to fly too high in case something went wrong. A few minutes later, you tumbled ungracefully onto a rooftop a fair distance from the crime scene, letting your body take the worst of the impact. You lay him on his back, ignoring your own wounds to check on him.

His side was badly burnt. The suit was covered in scrapes and scorch marks from the explosion. There didn't seem to be any bleeding as far as you could tell. The aching in your own lungs brought your attention to his face, still mostly covered by the crooked mask, and you hesitated for a moment before gently tugging it up until his nose and mouth were exposed so he could breathe more easily. It was immensely tempting to take it off completely and see who Spider-Man was, but you knew that you wouldn't want anyone to remove your mask without your consent, so you left it and instead settled yourself next to him, listening to the sounds of the city.

A short while later, he finally moved, and your gaze immediately locked onto him. His jaw tensed and he gritted his teeth, raising a hand to his head where he patted at the mask, only to jolt into a panic and shoot into a sitting position as he rapidly rolled the disguise back into place. He paused when he finally noticed you, staring uncertainly for a moment before glancing around, the eyes narrowing in what you presumed was a frown.

"I told you that you'd die without me," you joked weakly, your voice scratching your throat.

"Yeah, I..." He still seemed dazed, staring up at your hair, "it's very bright..."

"All that energy from the explosion has gotta go somewhere." You shrugged, only to wrinkle your nose and slowly roll your shoulders, tryng to ease off the pain.

"How did we get up here?" He asked hesitantly.

You fumbled around you for the web shooter before carefully throwing it at him. "Used your webs. Don't expect me to ever do that again, by the way- you're heavier than you look."

"I had a big breakfast," he muttered, his mask shifting as he pouted. "But... Thank you. That was... Yeah. Thanks."

A rush of air gained your attention and you glanced over your shoulder, stiffening up when you spotted Iron Man landing on the roof a few feet from you. Spider-Man scrambled to his feet, mumbling a few words under his breath as he agitated his injuries, before gazing eagerly at the suit.

"Mr. Stark, you didn't need to send a suit out a check on me: I'm fine, see?" He motioned to himself cheerfully.

The pieces of the armour unfolded, and Tony Stark himself stepped out, looking vaguely displeased. "You think I'd just send a suit when I heard Spider-Man got himself involved in a dangerous hostage siuation which led to a massive explosion and no way to connect to your suit because it had gone offline?!" He took a steadying breath. "Jesus, kid. You're going to give me a heart attack one of these days."

"I- I'm sorry, Mr. Stark. But- look!" He enthusiastically pointed down at where you sat. "Flare helped me and saved me!"

Stark did a double-take upon seeing you. His lips parted silently and he shook his head, seemingly trying to work out how to feel about this insane situation. You slowly got to your feet, feeling uneasy in the presence of such an important superhero.

"Look, Underoos, I have to ask..." He leaned closer to the kid, dropping his voice to a whisper, "I thought you took down baddies like this? How come you're suddenly buddy-buddy with a criminal?"

Spider-Man practically bristled, drawing his shoulders back to glare at his mentor. "Flare is my friend!"

"Still a criminal," Stark added with raised eyebrows.

"Well, we... We've taken down a lot of bad guys together, and we make a good team," he stated confidently with pride in his voice, looking over at you.

The billionaire rounded on you, pointing an accusing finger. "You know, while we're here, how come I can't find anything on your identity?"

"Some things should be forgotten," you said lowly, a warning note in your tone as you stared him down.

He squinted at you before sighing and rolling his dark eyes, patting the vigilante on the shoulder. "I'll let it slide for now, since you saved the kid. Peter, you better come by later so I can fix up your suit. Don't get in any more trouble today, okay?"

_Peter?_

"Of course, Mr. Stark," he chirped, sounding entirely unconvincing. "I'll go right home."

Stark snorted, lightly cuffing Spider-Man's cheek before turning and stepping back inside his armour. "Stay safe, kid. And Flare?" His masked face turned to you. "You'd better not hurt him."

You stared at him in silence, keeping your expression neutral before nodding in acknowledgement. Jets burst into life on his boots and palms, raising the suit a few feet into the air before he twisted and shot off.

Spider-Man exhaled heavily, the sound bordering a laugh. He raising his arms into the air and stretched out, tilting forwards onto his toes and rolling his neck before settling back into place.

His gaze landed on your face. "You didn't take my mask off, did you?" He hesitated, "how come?"

"It's not my choice to share your identity," you awkwardly scuffed your boots against the ground, then raised your head and flashed a grin. "Besides, like you said, we're friends."

One moment you were looking at an almost indecipherable, crimson disguise, and the next you were blinded with a bright smile. You blinked in shock, glancing between the mask crumpled in his grasp and his actual, real, _adorable_ face. His hair was a light brown and mussed by being under the fabric for so long, short curls dipping over his forehead. The smile faltered with uncertainty and his soft, brown eyes darted to the ground nervously.

You wanted to say something, but the words caught in your throat. There was no way he was who you thought he was, despite Stark calling him _Peter_ and looking exactly like your childhood best friend. No, it was impossible- just a cruel reminder of your past. And yet...

It made so much sense. Your old friend was always hero material, just as much as you were made to be a villain. He was bright and joyful and always eager to help anyone in any way. You wondered if he had discovered his powers later on in life like you had...

"Flare?" He asked quietly, head tilted and puppy-eyes hitting you at full force. "Are you... okay?"

You realised you were crying. You should've said something, but you couldn't summon your usual wit and confidence. It was too much to deal with so suddenly.

You backed away, glancing down at the street when you hit the edge. It was a safe distance with your powers. You glanced back at him, raising a hand to muffle a choked sob. He looked so dejected and confused, with slumped shoulders and eyebrows drawn sadly together. You spun back around and jumped off the roof before you could hesitate anymore, needing to get away from a ghost of your past.

*

It was rarely good news when your boss summoned you to him, and since your mental state was still fragile from the bombshell Spide- no, _Peter_ dropped on you the previous day, you were dreading whatever the man had to say to you. He motioned for you to close the door, and you glanced at it mournfully for a moment before complying, blanking your features as best you were able as you turned around to face him.

"We need to talk about Spider-Man," he told you, resting his forearms on the desk and clasping his fingers together.

A muscle in your cheek twitched and you gritted your teeth, trying to keep your response under wraps. "What about him?"

"I was fine with your involvement with him when he was of use to us, but today some friends informed me that you and him worked together to take down some of our allies, and they aren't happy." His gaze was cold and hard. "Two were arrested and three perfectly good weapons had to be destroyed due to you stopping them from taking out Spider-Man."

"I... I wasn't aware, sir. I apologise." Your tone was clipped and uneasy as you shifted your feet, immensely uncomfortable with the way the conversation was turning out.

"We want you to cut all ties with him. He won't be around for much longer, anyway." The ominous cadence wasn't lost on you, and you folded your hands behind your back to squeeze them together until it hurt.

You tried for a light, uncaring tone, acting as nonchalantly interested as possible. "Alright. What are you going to do?"

"We've finally uncovered his real identity and we know he goes to Midtown," he explained with an unpleasant smile, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his legs under the table. "I've called in some people to place a bomb in his chemistry classroom. The explosion can be ruled a tragic accident and no-one will be suspicious. It should be going off..." He checked his watch, "in about fifteen minutes."

Your heart pounded. You knew it was no coincidence that he had told you on such short notice: he didn't fully trust you- and apparently, you couldn't trust him.

You were a bad person. You killed, hurt, and stole. Yet this man, this _monster_ , was willing to kill a classroom of bright teenagers who had their whole lives ahead of them _just_ to get rid of Spider-Man. It was despicable, and you felt physically sick.

"Right." You nodded stiffly at him. "Do you have any missions for me?"

"No, you can go." He was already absorbed in whatever information that was being transferred to his tablet.

You left the room as casually as possible, but the moment the door closed you sprinted off towards your locker. When you opened it, your stomach dropped: your outfit was gone. Another second of pure panic ticked by before you managed to get a hold of yourself, knowing that Peter's life was more important than a stupid mask to hide your identity. You bolted out of the building, turning a corner so rapidly that you almost fell over but catching yourself and darting down the street.

There wasn't enough time to get to Midtown, no matter how fast you ran. You didn't want to stop, but if you ever hoped to reach the school in time then you needed a car. The road wasn't too busy and you took the chance to run out into the middle of the street, allowing a car to ram into you and drop you to the asphalt. You played up the pain as the guy hastily got out to check on you, and before he had a chance to realise what was going on you'd leapt up and darted inside his vehicle, pressing down on the pedal and shooting off. His yelling merged with honks of other drivers as you sped down the road, weaving between traffic with as much finesse as someone who had only driven a few times could manage.

By some miracle, all the traffic lights were green, allowing you to cruise on through until the school reared into view. You practically slammed on the breaks, screeching to a stop in the car park and flinging the car door open to throw yourself out and dash towards the front gate. It was closed, yet not locked, as if the fates were urging you onwards to save that boy. Your breathing was ragged as you burst into the entrance, glancing around for guidance before spotting a life-saving map on the opposite wall. You barely spared it a glance before you were gone, already halfway towards the chemistry labs and ignoring the shouts of a teacher who told you to stop running in the corridors.

Then came your next issue: which classroom was Peter in?

There was no time for pride or caution. You shoved open doors, peered inside, then slammed them shut again, rapidly moving down the corridor and growing more frantic as you felt the window closing on your chance to save innocent lives. Teachers were opening their doors to stare at you in alarm, but none of it mattered. Only a few minutes remained and your heart ticked away with the seconds passing.

You threw your weight against the next door, practically stumbling inside and feeling your breath hitch as you finally saw the person you were looking for. All the students stared at you in shock and confusion, especially since you looked a few years too old to be attending the school. Your eyes frantically skimmed the classroom, desperately searching for anything that looked like a bomb. The blood roaring in your ears drowned out the inquiries from the teacher and you made your way towards the back of the class, where your friend sat, completely unaware that any second could be his last.

Peter was staring at you apprehensively, knuckles whitening with every step closer you took. You placed a cautious hand on his desk, letting the energy from being hit by a car glimmer across your skin. His eyes widened and he looked up at you, gaze skimming from the scar on your cheekbone to your eyes, and his lips parted in shock.

"There's a bomb in here somewhere. My boss wants you dead. Everyone needs to get out of here," you hissed to him, keeping it almost silent so as not to be heard in the quiet of the classroom, before scanning the back of the room.

"Ned, cause a distraction!" Peter whispered.

There was something poking out from underneath a pile of textbooks. You stepped closer, spotting a small device nestled amongst the paper, smoking slightly.

"There's a bomb!" His friend yelped in alarm, springing up from his seat and causing a ripple of panic.

Still, the kids weren't leaving, instead staring at the teacher. You cringed internally before letting your hair flare up as you spun around to glare as menacingly as you could at the class.

"Get out of here," you snarled.

That did it. There was a stampede to escape the room.The teacher was herding everyone out. Peter was hesitating, looking like he wanted to help. Ned merely appeared awed at the sight of you, despite the situation. A girl with wild, curly brown hair stopped in the doorway before being pushed out by the teacher, who then turned to the final two.

"Kids, you need to get away from-"

Peter grabbed Ned and pulled him closer while you immediately held onto your friend's shoulder, pushing your power through the both of them as the bomb finally detonated. The three of you crouched down together, trying to become a small a target as possible. Despite that, debris skittered over your spines and shreds of paper filled the air like snow. Your body took the worst of the explosion and the pain was ten times worse than it would've been if you had been given time to properly heal from the last explosion. Pain clawed at your exposed fingers, but you refused to move them and let your companions feel the full brunt of the shockwave.

The worst of it had passed. Fire crackled on the charred remains of the textbooks and cracks webbed across the walls. You shook your head, dislodging the obliterated scraps of paper that had settled your form. Ned was still as stunned as ever, gazing around the ruined classroom before blinking in shock at your friend. Peter gave a wobbly, uncertain smile, not quite believing what had just happened.

"Oh my god..." The teacher stood up from behind his desk, looking shaken. "Peter, Ned- you need to get out of there!"

Your friend froze, his head snapping up to stare at the ceiling. He tensed up, raising an arm just as you heard a loud crack, glancing up just in time to see a large chunk of the roof break away above you. You closed your eyes and braced for impact, hearing rubble crash down, desks shatter and a horrified shout from the teacher.

"Whoa," Ned breathed, spurring you to open your eyes.

You squinted through the dust, a look of amazement dawning across your features as you saw Peter holding up the entire block of concrete. His shoulders were shaking and his face was pale with panic. He let out a grunt of exertion as the ceiling weighed heavy on him, forcing him to lower it until most of the mass was shifted onto his back. You frantically looked around you for a way to ease the pressure before it crushed him, keeping one hand on him and the other on his friend to maintain the connection.

"This is so cool," Ned whispered, looking more excited than nervous. "If we die here, I'd like you both to know that I died happy because my best friend is so awesome and I finally got to meet you, Flare."

Despite the situation, Peter managed to huff out a strained laugh. "Thanks, dude."

"Yeah, great," you muttered, then lightly patted your friend's arm to get his attention, pointing ahead of you. "You think you can throw it forwards? It should get supported by the rubble there and we can get out."

He shakily followed your gaze, nodding minutely and shifting the chunk further forwards until it was back in his grasp, joints whitening under the strain as he raised it up slightly. With a final growl, he shoved it forwards, watching with bated breath as it tipped over the edge of the debris pile and came to a stop leaning against it. You apprehensively glanced up at the hole in the ceiling, thanking your lucky stars that no-one was in the classroom above you.

Peter was rubbing at his shoulders, his face contorted with pain, but he offered a bright smile when he noticed your worried gaze upon him. Your hair was blazing blindingly as it burned off all the excess energy, providing you a helpful torch as the three of you clambered over the rubble, managing to reach the safer side of the classroom with only a few scrapes and grazes. Ned was happily chattering away until his friend elbowed him, and he finally looked up to see the teacher and the rest of the class outside the room, staring at the three of you in awe.

"You... Are you okay?" The teacher finally composed himself enough to nervously glance over his students.

"Yeah, we're alright, sir," Peter assured with a shaky smile, glancing sideways at his friend who nodded energetically.

"Yes, Mr. Cobbwell, sir!" Ned added for good measure, practically bouncing with excitement.

"What even... happened?" Cobbwell eyed you with blatant distrust.

Peter immediately tensed up. You glanced sideways at him before shrugging.

"I managed to stop the rubble from crushing us and we all pushed it aside to escape," you explained coolly, barely hiding your smirk when you noticed how obvious your friend was being with his relief.

"And you're... Flare?" The teacher still seemed bewildered by the whole situation.

"I am," you confirmed with a tight smile, uncomfortable with the scrutiny from the whole class.

"Right, well, um..." He trailed off for a moment before straightening up. "There's an ambulance out front, you should all get checked over, just in case."

The man set off, and the kids confusedly exchanged looks before following him. Most of them were whispering to one another, staring pointedly at you and trying to strike up conversations with their two classmates.

"Don't scare me like that again, you losers." The girl who'd paused in the door lightly bumped shoulders with Peter, who tried not to wince.

"Sorry, MJ," Peter responded sheepishly.

"Yeah, you should be." She paused, staring at him with enigmatic eyes. "What really happened in there?"

"Oh, um... you know... arachnid things," he answered with a vague wave of his hand.

"Flare's powers stopped the worst of it from hitting us!" Ned chipped in happily, looking at you with a wide grin. "You're so cool. I'm so glad you and Peter are friends."

"Uh, that reminds me... how did you get that scar?" He immediately cringed at himself, raising his hands and verbally backpedalling. "Wait, you, um- you don't have to tell me if you don't w-"

You reached over and ruffled his hair, causing a puff of dust to explode from his curls. "I'm pretty sure you already know, since you were there when it happened."

He batted playfully at your hand, gazing at you. "(Y/N)?" He said in a small voice, and you nodded, causing him to brighten considerably. "I can't believe it! This is incredible- what are the chances of something like this even _happening?_ "

"It's good to see you again," you admitted quietly, wrapping an arm around his trembling form as the pair of you walked.

"You too," he beamed at you with such genuine adoration in his eyes your heart stuttered for a moment. "So, I became a hero just like I always dreamed of, and you became a villain, huh?"

You gazed at him evenly for a moment before looking down at the floor, a soft smile playing on your lips. "Maybe it's time for a fresh start..."


End file.
